


Miles From Where You Are

by KayCeeCruz



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-15
Updated: 2011-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 10:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayCeeCruz/pseuds/KayCeeCruz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I've lived a thousand lifetimes to find a soul like yours. A soul so pure, a soul so brave. An angel that takes my breath away. -- Brandon Lee in The Crow.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Miles From Where You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "World's Apart challenge" on neverenough_bj. Lyrics from "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol.  
> Beta-reading by wouldbedorothy and reilael. Feedback appreciated. <3

  
_I've lived a thousand lifetimes to find a soul like yours. A soul so pure, a soul so brave. An angel that takes my breath away. -- Brandon Lee in The Crow_   


 

Lifetimes in one heartbeat.

Lifetimes in one breath.

Lifetimes in one second.

Justin smirked as the words of his favorite English teacher came to mind. Why he was thinking of them, he wasn’t sure. Maybe they were appropriate.

Everything passed so quickly. Years and lives and happiness. Here, then gone.

“You’re getting fucking maudlin in your old age, Taylor,” he muttered into his drink, finishing off the last of the warm liquid, grimacing slightly at the wildfire that spread down his chest, pooling in the pit of his stomach. He’d never mastered the art of whiskey. That had always been…

He turned when the sounds of footsteps approached and raised an eyebrow at his boyfriend -- one could say ex-boyfriend now. “Didn’t think you meant tonight, Matthew.”

Matthew made some derisive kind of sound, hauling his bulging knapsack over his shoulder. He reached inside his pocket and Justin watched as he pulled out a set of keys, placing them on the wooden surface of the coffee table. “I don’t think we should waste any more time. Do you?”

When Justin made no reply, he shook his head, dragging one bag as he attempted to carry the other one. He turned as he reached the door, setting both bags down on the floor. “You want to know the fucked up part, Justin?”

“Not really, but it seems you need to tell me, so…” Justin waved a hand in Matthew’s direction.

Matthew let out a mirthless whisper of laughter. “I blamed _him_ for years. Your inability to -- well, that doesn’t matter, does it? When we first met - you were so full -- of life. You understood what you wanted. You strived for art but you never lost to the corruption out there. Your feet were firmly planted on the ground.” Matthew shook his head as he glanced out of the floor to ceiling windows. “I thought back then -- that _he_ was the problem. That he pushed you.”

Justin clenched his jaw tight. He refused to acknowledge what Matthew was talking about. He never shared that with anyone.

“Thing is -- I was wrong. Brian wasn’t the problem. He was the solution. He kept you together. Made you strive to be better without selling out. Gave you a goal.” Matthew sighed, his eyes meeting Justin’s. “And when that was gone-- you let something else become your focus. And you lost what was important.”

He walked away quickly and Justin almost said his name. Almost made him stop.

But, in the end, he didn’t. There was no point. He didn’t care enough to make that effort, and that was all that mattered.

Matthew took his bags, opening the door, and throwing Justin one last look, he smiled kindly. Something akin to pity in his eyes.

Justin suppressed the urge to punch him.

“If you fell so far from who you are -- I can’t imagine what happened to him.”

And he was gone.

Leaving Justin with thoughts he didn’t want.

 

  


 

“So, Matt left then?”

Justin ignored David’s question. “I think the Marcel piece needs to go on the far right wall. Better light.”

“You don’t want to talk about it.”

“When have I ever wanted to talk about it, David?”

“Never.”

Justin said nothing.

“Fine. Well, those men from Art World, Inc. are waiting in your office.” David sneered as he said the name.

Justin eyed him. “Watch it, David.”

David shrugged. “Look, Boss. I don’t judge because it’s not my fucking place, but they’re a group of old farts who wouldn’t know good art if it bit them in their asses.”

Justin stared at him, his voice a hush. “Maybe so. But they help fund our exhibits, so show them a little more respect.”

“Whatever.”

Justin watched David walk away, muttering a litany of curses that Justin was sure he didn’t want to hear. Taking a deep breath, he schooled his face into a benevolent smile and entered the conference room. The row of sour faces made him pause slightly.

He hated this.

“Gentlemen, how are we this morning?”

 

  


 

“So they want you to sell out? Paint pretty landscapes and portraits? Fuck that, Justin. You said these paintings are brilliant.”

“Disturbing and thought-provoking apparently don’t sell, Daphne.”

“Bullshit. I love your stuff. It’s the best. And you haven’t painted in so long. Busy with the gallery and other artists. I remember how your work feels, Jus. Especially the ones you painted about…”

She silenced the word and Justin heard her deep intake of breath.

“Don’t.”

“But, Justin…”

“No.”

Daphne sighed into the phone. “I still don’t know what the fuck happened.”

Justin changed the subject.

 

  


 

 _We'll do it all  
Everything on our own  
We don't need anything or anyone_

 

If Justin was honest, he had no clue what happened either. One day, they had been fine… and the next it was over.

 _“That’s it? You’re not going to let me have a say.”_

 _“Nothing to say, Sunshine.”_

 _“I see.”_

 _“I’m holding you back.”_

 _“Brian…”_

 _“Take the fucking commission to Paris, Justin.”_

 _“But I don’t want to.”_

 _“Bullshit.”_

 _“This is ridiculous.”_

 _“Yes, it is. This is when you decided that your art was less important than our -- getting married.”_

 _“As I recall, marriage was your reaction to a bomb, Brian. You never really wanted it.”_

 _“…..”_

 _“Brian?”_

 _“Take it.”_

And that had been the end.

He’d gotten on a plane for Paris.

Brian hadn’t called.

And Justin had known it was over.

 _“Nothing like distance and absence to make the heart grow fonder. And make the cock grow harder.”_

Justin smirked.

That was one of Brian’s.

How had they gotten to this point? Where they never saw one another, but let phone calls be their only connection? Justin didn’t know. At least they were -- friends. They still talked.

They never spoke about _them_. They never addressed what they once were. It was like it had never happened.

And after a while Justin had become convinced that it hadn’t.

That none of that -- the proposal, the marriage, their relationship -- had mattered. It had been a growing experience.

It had been a lifetime.

 

  


 

These moments were rare for him. Stillness around him was rare. Justin brushed swiftly across the dark canvas. It was forming… into what, he wasn’t sure yet. But whatever it was to be -- it was forming.

He breathed in the smell of paint and turpentine. This is where he felt at home. With a brush in hand and a world of blankness that needed to be filled. Brought to life.

These were the only moments he felt like Justin.

He jumped at the knock that reverberated through the silence of his apartment. His hand accidentally jerked and a line appeared on the canvas that wasn’t meant to be there. Justin bit back a scream of frustration. That wasn’t supposed to be there.

He’d forgotten about the food he’d ordered.

“Fuck.”

The knock came again. Louder.

Justin scowled, grabbing his wallet from the side table as he reached the door. He pulled it open, reminding himself that the delivery guy wasn’t at fault. Just doing his job. He froze as he was met with hazel eyes.

“Hello, Sunshine.”

 

  
_  
**I want to lie with you forever, my passion knows no bounds. I want to shield you from all evil, protect this love we've found. -- Brandon Lee in The Crow**   
_   


 

 _You could be happy and I won't know  
But you weren't happy the day I watched you go.  
And all the things that I wish I had not said,  
Are played in loops till it's madness in my head._

 

Lifetimes pass while one stands still.

Another vague quote that assaulted Justin’s mind as he stared, frozen in shock, at hazel eyes and tan skin. It appeared his English teacher had managed to squirm these meaningful phrases inside Justin’s subconscious after all.

Brian stood motionless, tired and slightly haggard, staring back at him.

He was as beautiful as Justin remembered.

Memories flooded out into the empty space between them. Of a life he no longer let himself believe existed. It was a figment of his mind. It had to be. Brian would never show up at his apartment. In New York. At one in the morning. Justin wondered when exactly he’d lost lucidity. But then, the hallucination spoke again and he knew it was real.

“You’re spilling paint on the floor.”

Justin glanced down at the puddle of blue that had formed at his side.

“Fuck.”

He looked up, Brian’s face adorned with a smile, tiny but there, and Justin remembered why he had always tried so hard to make him do that. It was breathtaking. He shook his head, stepping back from the door. This was too much. He couldn’t be there. Justin forced his gaze elsewhere. He didn’t want to see him. But no matter how hard he fought it Justin’s eyes returned to Brian time and time again. He wanted to demand answers but his brain had apparently ceased to function. Something that hadn’t happened to him for quite some time.

Brian raised an eyebrow, another memory, and motioned into the apartment. “Can I come in or do I have to camp out on your doorstep?”

Justin shook his head, still unable to find his voice, aside from the curse words in his head. He waved Brian in, turning and taking long strides toward the canvas he’d been working on. He flung a sheet over it before looking over his shoulder at -

Brian.

Jesus fucking Christ.

This couldn’t be happening. How long had it been since they had been alone together in one room? He’d lost track after a while and it spoke volumes that he couldn’t remember. Or didn’t want to. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he opened his mouth to finally speak. “Brian.”

There were a thousand thoughts vying to be said, rushing through his mind, but none seemed to connect with the pathways that brought them to his mouth as powerfully as the one he ended up with, that given the situation was more than appropriate.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Brian had been circling his apartment, glancing at some of the paintings that adorned the walls. Some were his, of course. The personal ones that he could never bring himself to sell even when he had been a starving, young artist.

Ages ago now…and Justin suddenly felt very old.

In many of those, Brian was featured prominently and Justin wished he could make him stop looking. He didn’t want Brian to have access to those places he kept for himself.

Others were given to Justin by former lovers or artists he’d showcased when he’d opened the gallery. Brian stood in front of one of Justin’s favorites, a large canvas done in blue. Seemingly enthralled by it, he took a moment before turning to look Justin directly in the eye. Something there in his stare that touched Justin even from across the room, and when he answered point blank, Justin wasn‘t sure he‘d heard right.

“I’m sorry--what?”

“I came to see you.”

It wasn’t the answer Justin had anticipated. Not that it wasn’t the truth. Justin knew it was. But he’d never known Brian to admit to that. Even in the days when their lives had entwined, he’d rarely made such a stark statement. Whenever he had visited, which was a rare occurrence those first years, he’d made sure to emphasis that he was in town for a meeting or on his way to see his son or checking out the real estate for possible expansion…if the day ever came. Which…it didn’t.

Justin had known the real reason but he expected hell to freeze over before Brian would admit such a thing.

Brian didn’t do _that._

Justin scowled, slightly put off by this unorthodox Kinney behavior. Brian seemed amused at that and tilted his head, waiting for a response.

“Why?”

Brian shrugged and looked back to the painting as he answered. “Because I wanted to.”

“I see.” Justin stared at his clock pointedly, not that Brian could see that with his back turned of course, but he needed to do it. “And you flew in at one in the morning because?”

“I didn’t fly in. I drove.”

That stopped Justin in his tracks. “You drove?”

Brian nodded.

“From Pittsburgh?”

Brian nodded once more, moving along in his study of Justin’s home. “Where the fuck else would I drive in from, Sunshine?” He glanced toward Justin as he pointed at one of the paintings. “That’s yours, isn’t it? From that series you did a couple of years ago?” He studied it, his hands finding their way into his pant pockets.

This wasn’t right at all.

“I’m confused.”

Brian looked at him. “About what?”

“Why you’re here.” Justin pointed a finger to the floor for emphasis. He tempered his emotions, refusing to give in the heat...the anger that was balling up in his throat. “In my home. At one in the morning.”

“I already told you.” Brian caught sight of the wallet still in Justin’s hand. “Were you planning to bribe me to leave?”

Justin realized what he was holding and set it down on a nearby table. “I thought you were the pizza delivery guy.”

Brian laughed. “That’s a new one.” He glanced back at the painting. “I love this series.”

Justin pushed away the rush of pride and…other emotions that came with those words.

“I still don’t understand. What made you _want_ to see me?”

“Nothing like distance and absence to make the heart grow fonder. And make the cock grow harder.”

Relief surfaced slowly because _that_ was the Brian that Justin knew and tried his best to be ambivalent about.

“Brian.”

“I always want to see you, Justin. Every morning when I wake up, all fucking day long and even more when I go to sleep.”

The comfort he’d begun to feel left as quickly as it had come. Justin had a problem he’d never thought he’d have again in this lifetime. Brian Kinney was being…sincere.

“Brian. What happened?”

He didn’t turn to look at him. “Nothing.”

“Then why the middle of the fucking night surprise visit, huh? We haven’t seen each other in I don’t even remember how--”

“Just over a year, give or take a few weeks. And before that it was nine months. And before--”

“I got it.” Justin ignored the fluttering in his chest because -- goddamn it -- he knew how fucking long it had been since he’d seen Brian. He knew he could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen him in the last five fucking years. But his face remained motionless except for the tick in his jaw. He spoke through clenched teeth, nothing more than a sigh. “Why are you here, Brian?”

“I told you I -”

“Wanted to see me, yeah.” Justin shook his head. “You‘re an asshole, Brian. You are aware of that, right?” He ignored the look Brian sent him and asked. “So how long will you be gracing me with your presence?”

“What happened with Matt, Justin?”

Fucking loudmouthed…he was going to kill Emmett. He ignored Brian because that line of questioning would lead them nowhere. “How long, Brian?”

“Long as it takes.”

It was Justin’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Exactly what does that mean?”

“Are you happy?”

Justin flinched. “Okay, Brian. What the _fuck_?” He threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. “What kind of question is that?”

Brian smirked. “A fairly simple one.”

“Simple?” Justin shook his head because -- no. That was the last thing any of this was. There were tremors running over his skin, thoughts and wants that he never let surface, that he avoided at every possible turn, were struggling to come loose. He didn’t want this. Any of it. It was too much. It was too late.

Their lifetime had passed by.

“Don’t think so much, Justin.” Brian closed the distance between them and Justin felt that old shift inside him. That jelly feeling in his legs and the bloom of something he wouldn’t name underneath his skin. Desire burned - hurt - him. He held up a hand, stepping back.

“Stop.”

Brian did.

“You’re scared.”

Justin glared at him. “Don’t confuse anger with fear, Brian. I wanted you to stay there because if you took one more step, I don’t think I could stop myself from kicking the shit out of you.”

“Now, _that_ I’d like to see.” Brian snorted at Justin’s ferocious look. “That the best you got, Taylor? Cause if it is, I don’t know how you’ve survived so long out here.”

“I’ve survived beautifully.” Justin motioned around him. He’d accomplished more than he’d ever dreamed. Maybe it wasn’t everything but it was his. That was all that mattered to him. “Why are you trying to ruin that? Why now?”

Brian’s face softened and he made to touch him, but lowered his hand when Justin took another step back. “I told you. You’re not happy.”

“What does that fucking matter?” Justin yelled at him, temper getting the better of him, penetrating through his cold mask. “It’s been _years_! Fucking years! Where was all this caring about me being happy back when it meant something, huh?”

Brian swallowed, voice softer than Justin had heard in a long while. “It was there. I just didn’t want to…we’ve wasted a lot of time.” Brian waved his hand at Justin and then back at himself. “This? I didn’t do it alone.”

Justin shoved a hand through his hair. “This is _so_ fucked.”

“No shit.”

They stared at one another for what seemed too long and when Brian spoke again, it was the last words Justin expected. “I miss you.”

“You need to go, Brian.”

“I’m _not_ leaving.”

“This isn’t you. Brian Kinney doesn’t do declarations. He doesn’t drive hours to his ex-whatever-the-hell-I-was-to-you to say things he never said when they were together.” Justin laughed harshly, his wrist throbbing now thanks to the spastic clenching and unclenching of his fists since Brian had started on this bit of conversation. He couldn’t handle this.

“How do you know this isn’t me? That’s what you said when you left." Brian waved a hand at him.

“I can’t do this.”

“I’m not going anywhere. At least not for the moment. I drove seven fucking hours to get here. I need sleep.” Brian glanced around, seemingly in an attempt to find Justin’s spare room.

“You’re staying here?”

Brian stared at him. “Where the fuck else? You’re the only one I know in New York, Sunshine.” He found his way to the guest quarters, not looking at Justin standing at the door. “Besides, I told you. I came to see you.”

Justin wanted to cry. He could feel it…that grief he’d bottled for so long beginning a slow trickle out. He couldn’t be here. It would hurt too much. And when he left -- it might just kill Justin. “Brian, you can’t stay.”

Brian sighed. “Three days.” He glanced up at him, throwing his bag on the bed. “That’s all I want. Three days.”

“Three days?” Justin repeated, his heart calming at the thought. He could handle that. Brian could get whatever the hell this was out of his system and then he’d go home. “Fine. But you leave after that.”

Brian smiled. “You got it.”

Justin narrowed his eyes in Brian’s direction. He’d just been set up, hadn’t he? “I mean it, Brian. I don’t know what the fuck this is but in three days, your Armani clad ass is back on its way to the Pitts.”

“Well, I never said I’d be going back there, “ he held a hand up when Justin began to argue, “but I promise I’ll be on my way.” Brian paused and leaned in suddenly, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling Justin against him. Brian’s mouth fell on Justin’s…the kiss angry, deep and full of words that Justin didn’t want to hear or feel or think about. There was a mixture of groans emanating from them and Justin clenched his fists again to keep his arms from wrapping themselves around Brian.

When Brian pulled back, their lips only an inch apart, he whispered . “And you’ll be coming _with_ me.”

 

  


 

 _Is it too late to remind you how we were?  
But not our last days of silent screaming blur.  
Most of what I remember makes me sure  
I should've stopped you from walking out the door._

 

“Michael?”

Justin’s plan had been to leave a message on Michael’s voicemail asking him to call him. He was more than a little surprised when Michael actually answered his cell phone on the first ring.

“Justin? Is he with you?”

“Yes. He’s here.”

“Thank god. Hold on.” Justin listened as Michael spoke to someone in the room. He heard a response and then another. There was shuffling and some more mumbled conversation but then Michael was back on the phone. “Is he okay?”

Justin started to reassure him but Brian’s uncharacteristic behavior was anything but normal. “I don’t think so, Michael. He’s acting -- I don’t even know how he’s acting because I’ve never seen him like this before.” Justin tapped a nervous beat on his thigh, leaning against his headboard. His eyes strayed to the door, half expecting Brian to walk through it. He needed to make sure to lock it.

“I know. He’s -- it was a bad month, Justin.” Michael’s voice caught and Justin remembered just what month it was.

“Oh, god. Mikey. I’m sorry. I just --”

“Hey. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s better that way. I don’t -- want to think about it for too long.”

“Right.” Justin dropped his head back, making a distinctive thud as it hit the board.

Ben had died a year ago that month.

Justin fought against the deep loss that came when thinking of his friend. Ben would be a regret he’d have the rest of his life. Not being there his last days. Not being able to help Michael, JR, Hunter, or Ricky through that. By the time his mother had reached him in Glasgow, Ben had passed away.

And Justin had never gotten to say goodbye.

“How are the kids?”

“They’re doing really great.” Justin smiled when Michael’s voice seemed to lift at the mention of his kids. “JR is as beautiful as ever. Hunter has a new boyfriend and Ricky just started the first grade.” There was a pause and then Michael sighed. “Did he tell you what happened?”

Justin tensed at the change in Michael’s tone. “No. He just came up here, out of nowhere, telling me he needed to see me and missed me. And declaring he’s going to take me away with him.” Justin could hear the disgust in his voice but it was just too ridiculous. “What the fuck happened, Michael?”

The question was met with silence.

Justin knew it was bad if Michael had no response for him.

“Michael.”

“It’s...I think it’s better if he tells you.”

“But I need some idea, Michael. I need to know what I’m dealing with. The only other time that came close to this oddness was his declarations and warped ideas after the-” Justin blinked as the words he was saying caught up with him. “Shit. What happened?”

“Everyone’s fine. Don’t freak out, please.”

“Then tell me _something_ , Michael, because that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

Michael cursed under his breath. Justin waited patiently for Michael to speak. He understood his loyalty to Brian but he needed this information. He needed to know how to deal with Brian so that he could send him back home before he fractured any part of the life Justin lived. He could already feel the first cracks appearing, making him want and need. “What happened?”

“There was... _fuck_. There was a bashing and Brian saw it happen.”

 

  
_  
**Love me with your spirit, promise we'll never part. We are not the same as others. We are forever lovers. -- The Crow**   
_   


 

There is only one lifetime. It is up to the individual to do with it as they want.

Justin leaned his head back against the headboard, cursing his English teacher to hell for eternity. He’d never believed those random lessons in his teenage years would ever affect his life. Or in this case, have the scary symmetry they had with his own situation. He would have found it all amusing except that it was his life. It was his world that seemed on the verge of destruction.

It was barely daybreak and his restlessness was threatening to consume him. There had been no sleep. Fitful attempts at it were interrupted by the sudden realization that the only barrier between him and another broken heart was one flimsy wall of concrete.

He swore he could hear every movement that Brian made, even when he knew logically that wasn’t possible. Not unless he’d suddenly become Superman. Or Rage. That earned a smile. Rage was easy to understand. He’d always been. Like Brian.

But the man in the other room, the one that had driven hours to get to him, wasn’t Rage. He wasn’t even the Brian he knew. He was a completely new creature. Some hybrid of the Brian he had loved and… someone new. Someone else.

It was freaking him out.

Even after Michael’s explanation -- if blurting out that Brian had witnessed another bashing, and then telling Justin to ask Brian for the rest of the details before hanging up could be considered that -- the fact that he was here, within mere feet, where Justin could touch, breathe, taste him… was enough to drive him insane.

Brian seemed determined to do whatever it was he thought he had to. To take Justin with him. He snorted at that idea. Where the hell was he going to take him? Back to the Pitts? No. Brian said he wasn’t going back there.

Where the fuck was he going? That was the million dollar question. Justin willed his heart to not care. He wanted nothing to do with it. It didn’t matter to him. Whatever Brian had come for wasn’t important to him.

He rolled his eyes and laughed mirthlessly.

What fucking utter bullshit that was.

Brian knew exactly what he was doing when he came to New York. He knew that no matter the years, showing up at Justin’s doorstep with declarations and promises would throw Justin completely for a loop. Would make him remember and want and need. It would give him the one thing he’d lived without for so long: Hope.

Justin slid down, rolling sideways and clutching his pillow to his face, and let out a muffled stream of curses. It wasn’t fucking fair.

Son of a _bitch._

 

  


 

 _You could be happy  
I hope you are  
You made me happier than I'd been by far_

 

After another hour of tossing in his bed, Justin threw back the covers and rose to meet the day… and goddamn Brian. He took his time in the shower and getting dressed, reassured that he wouldn’t be surprised by Brian bursting in the door. He’d made sure, _twice_ , that it was securely locked. The world could call Justin many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. If Brian got anywhere near him -- naked, half-naked, or even with just his shoes off -- there’d be no way to resist him.

And he had to.

Even if it killed him.

Taking a deep breath before opening the door, Justin hesitated only a fraction of a second. Then, deciding that would give Brian the advantage, he walked steadily into the large, open kitchen. His eyes fell to Brian, sitting at the round kitchen table, hunched over his laptop with his cell in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

“I don’t give a fuck what he thinks, Theodore. Those boards are for shit.” He leaned back as he spoke and the muscle shirt stretched over his chest. Justin’s mouth suddenly went dry.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He’d forgotten how good Brian looked first thing in the morning, when he was just Brian. No Armani suit. No perfect hair. No businessman mask.

Just mussed, slightly cranky, beautiful Brian.

Oh, fuck. There was no way he would survive three days of this.

“I want new boards by noon today. Yes, I said noon, Ted. That’s plenty of time. Email them as soon as they’re ready.” Brian noticed Justin then, and his eyes lit up, despite the angry tone. He flashed Justin a rare, toothy grin, the kind that was only reserved for him.

Justin was going to fucking cry.

Brian motioned to the kitchen with his coffee cup, and while he finished his call, Justin went to investigate, finding a bag of pastries from his favorite bakery. He wasn’t going to bother asking how exactly Brian had managed to let himself in and out of the house without a key. He heard the soft shuffle of Brian’s feet as he came to stand at the breakfast bar to watch him.

“Good morning, Sunshine.”

“Hmph.”

Brian laughed quietly, sending a shiver up Justin’s spine that he chose to ignore. “I forget that you’re not exactly the most talkative this early in the day.”

“Who the fuck is?”

Justin sensed Brian’s grin and pushed away the one threatening to form on his own lips. They’d had this routine down to an art those first years when everything had seemed possible.

“Well, you might not be the most cheerful, but your ass can still make any suit look like fucking Armani.”

Without looking up, Justin asked, “You trying to ply me with charm and baked goods, Kinney?”

Brian moved so quickly, Justin hadn’t even been aware he’d stepped behind him. He was trapped between Brian and the counter. There was that awareness that ran through his blood, breath, skin… everything. Brian’s heat seeping through the material of his suit, his body’s ingrained instinct to lean back into it, and Justin inhaled. That scent that was distinctly Brian… seeping into his skin, overtaking senses and reason.

“I could ply you with something a little more --”

Fingers against skin, and Justin trembled somewhere he thought had long stopped feeling anything. It was instant. The attraction, the loss of breath, the arousal. Everything he felt compounded into one overwhelming sensation. Brian’s cheeks skimming his gently, breath touching him, and Justin forced his knees not to buckle. When soft lips grazed his chin, he bit back a whimper…

He knew he would lose everything that he’d fought for.

So he opened his mouth to tell Brian to stop, but other words rushed out on their own.

“Are you ever planning on telling me about the bashing?”

It was as if he had doused Brian with cold water. The abrupt change in his breathing, the hand that stilled just beneath the hem of his shirt where it had begun to explore further. They stood front to back, the only sound their breathing, and eventually Brian expelled a loud sigh, followed by, “Fucking Mikey.”

Justin felt him pull back, never looking up but sensing Brian come to stand in front of him. “Why didn’t you tell me right away?”

“Because it’s not important.”

Justin glared at him now.

“It’s not. Whatever you’re thinking -- I -- fuck. Why the hell can’t you just leave it alone, Sunshine?”

Justin tensed. Straightening his shoulders and backing away from the counter, he deposited his empty cup and plate into the sink and moved past Brian to the living area. He knew Brian was following him. “Maybe because I’m not some seventeen year old twink who’s looking for something that isn’t there, and you’re not some twenty-nine year old emotionally stunted club boy with a Peter Pan syndrome,” he threw over his shoulder. Shoving his arms into his coat with more force than necessary, he added, “We’re grown-ups now, Brian. This shit -- dysfunctional and twisted -- it can’t work. I don’t want it.”

Brian had opened his mouth to speak, but Justin shook his head, walking to and opening his door before turning.

“I don’t want you here when I get back.”

“I have three days.”

“Fuck your three days.”

He slammed the door and vaulted down the stairs, the cold air hitting him the minute he stepped out of his building. He shivered but continued at the same hurried pace, just this side of running until he reached the station. There he paused and covered his face with frozen hands.

“Shit.”

 

  


 

“Um, Bossman?”

Justin gritted his teeth and glared at one of his oldest employees. “How many fucking times have I told you not to call me that, Steve?”

He found his glare returned and a file dumped on his desk as Steve left his office.

Less than a minute later, David opened the door and leaned against the frame. “What the fuck got up your ass, today?”

“None of your goddamn business.”

“I beg to differ there. Whatever is making you this pissed off, it’s not our fault, so do you think you could hold back on abusing the staff?” David entered the room, closing the door before stopping in the middle of the room, arms crossed. “Is this about Matt?”

Justin snorted, rifling through the pile of papers and files for the newest delivery reports.

“Okay, I’ll take that as a no. I didn’t think it was, anyway. I never saw Matt get this reaction from you.”

“I’m having a reaction?”

“Ah, yeah. You’re being a raving asshole, Justin.”

“Fuck off, David.”

“You first.”

Justin was going to fire the little shit today. Swear to God he was. He looked up, his eyes narrowed, to meet David’s hostile stare. “Don’t push me.”

“Well, then don’t treat me and the rest of the staff like we’re your personal punching bags, and I won’t call you on your crap. It’s pretty simple.”

Justin opened his mouth, then thinking better of it, he nodded. The fucker was right. “Just tell everyone to leave me alone.” David continued to stare at him. “I’ll apologize to them later, okay?” That received a nod, and the room was empty a second later.

Justin let his head fall on his desk.

Fucking Brian.

 

  


 

It had taken Justin a better part of the morning to shove all thoughts of Brian out of his mind, and by the time he’d managed to concentrate enough, he was behind schedule. He’d gone out of his office for a few brief minutes to apologize to Steve, who had just shaken his head and waved him away. Steve was like that. He didn’t hold a grudge. It was probably why he and David worked so well. ‘Cause David… he was a bitch when he was pissed off.

Which he had been all morning.

But as soon as he’d delivered that apology (and a few random others), Justin had stowed away in his office.

He was not fit for human consumption.

Unfortunately, every half hour or so, David entered with some new paper to be looked at, order to be approved, or messages to deliver. All done in a very angry tone. It was Justin’s punishment.

The door flew open, right on time, and Justin glanced up with as much patience as he could muster. “Yes?”

David raised an eyebrow. “You’re buying the staff lunch today,” he told Justin, shoving a receipt at him that needed to be signed, waiting. Justin bit back a sigh, another common event of the day, and did as he was told. He shoved it back at David and waited for him to leave.

When he didn’t, he looked up, a little annoyed now. “What, David?”

“I was just wondering if the gorgeous man standing in our showroom has anything to do with your foul mood this morning.”

Justin closed his eyes. Shit.

“God damn it.”

He pushed out of his chair and stepped around an interested-looking David to the door. He glanced out, recognizing the tilt of the head that was, at that very moment, looking at one of Justin’s newest pieces. “Shit. Fuck. _Goddamnit._ ”

“You said that one already.”

He ignored the amusement in David’s voice and took a deep breath, fortifying his wall… setting another brick before heading out to take care of Brian. He stood quietly behind him, watching his face as Brian took in the large canvas. He knew he shouldn’t, but he needed to know. He always needed to know.

“What do you think?”

“Does it matter?”

“No.”

“Good.” Brian turned to him. “‘Cause it’s -- definitely not your best. But, what the fuck do I know about art, right?”

“Quite a bit, I think.” David’s voice drifted over to them. He pointed at the painting. “I hate that damn thing.”

Brian smiled over at David. “Brian Kinney. Justin’s… fill in the blank.”

David smothered a laugh at the look Justin sent Brian and waved. “David Anderson. Justin’s assistant and pain in the ass.”

“Ah, I used to be that, too, once.”

“Brian. Please.”

David smirked. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Brian.” He grinned at Justin’s shocked expression. “You talk like you wouldn’t believe when you’re drunk, J.” He nodded at them before turning away.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“He seems useful.” Brian watched David walk away.

“He’s married. The kind that doesn’t fuck around, so forget about it.”

Brian turned back, anger crossing his face. “Well, good for him.” He looked as if he wanted to say something else but didn’t, returning his gaze to the painting. “Is this what Daphne was talking about? Flat, uninspired…”

“This isn’t your place, Brian.”

“You’re here. It’s my place.”

Justin closed his eyes. He was going to kill him. He was. “Stop saying shit like that. It’s not you.”

“How the fuck would you know if it was?” Brian glanced over when Justin said nothing back. “There are things you won’t let me tell you.”

“Because I don’t care, Brian. I don’t need to hear them. I don’t want to.”

Brian shrugged. “Fine. So, show me what’s kept you in New York all these years.”

 

  


 

 _Somehow everything I own smells of you  
And for the tiniest moment it's all not true  
Do the things that you always wanted to  
Without me there to hold you back, don't think just do_

 

His eyes strayed to the covered painting, silently waiting to be finished, and his hands ached to touch it. To pour the frustration of the day into the thickness of colors. Wanted to sweep his hand across nothing and fill it with life. To command it to his liking.

One down. Two to go.

The hardest day he’d had in a long time was coming to a close, and Justin couldn’t have been more grateful to see it end.

Brian hadn’t made it easy. He’d stayed at the gallery until Justin broke down and agreed to dinner. Apparently, for a man who never made it down to New York, Brian had a favorite restaurant for every type of food. Justin had chosen Italian because, petty as he was feeling, he knew the extra “carbs” would annoy Brian.

He’d received an amused smirk in return and Brian’s suggestion of heading to Becco.

Justin would go but he wouldn’t like it.

Dinner had proven to be a lesson in self-control. Brian managed to get him to talk, despite what Justin had promised himself, and before he realized it, they were trading stories about clients, tricks, and problems. It was like it once was...when their lives had intertwined so closely.

Justin knew that disentangling from that -- from the life they’d shared -- was the hardest thing he’d ever had to experience. He wasn’t willing to go back.

But, when Brian’s eyes lit up at the mention of Gus or re-telling Emmett’s latest debacle, he felt like that seventeen year old he’d sworn he no longer was. His insides would tremble with the flip-flop he always got in the pit of his stomach when around Brian. He could feel the heat rising in his body, the desire mingle with something else -- doubt and fear -- and his mind screamed to get up and run away.

Sitting in a restaurant in the middle of Manhattan, he’d looked across the table and seen Brian. Noticed the slight crinkles when he smiled at him. How the hair at his temples was grayed slightly. The ease in his stance, on his face -- a peace he hadn’t realized was there.

And he fell. Hard and fast. Like he did that night so many years ago.

The ride back to the apartment had been hell. Brian next to him the whole time. His shoulder pressed against Justin’s, the heat of skin seeping through and scalding him. Justin had gritted his teeth so hard, he was surprised he hadn’t chipped a tooth. When Brian’s hand fell on his thigh, he’d jumped out of his skin, scooting over a few inches for distance.

For a moment, he’d met Brian’s eyes -- sparkling with something Justin did not want to see -- then looked away quickly. They’d fallen into a strained silence that had lasted all the way home.

And now they were alone and aware of each other, with words that needed to be said, no matter how Justin felt about it.

His eyes closed at the oddly familiar sounds of Brian. They weren’t noises that should have been distinguishable from ones he’d heard before, yet they were unique. They had an echo, a promise that Justin refused to acknowledge. They were Brian noises. Sounds generated from his energy… his force and power.

So, they were wholly different from anything else he’d heard in his home.

He’d refused to open his eyes to watch Brian walk across the expanse from the kitchen (where he’d been fiddling with something) to where he sat in the sitting room, surrounded by files and papers Justin assumed were for Kinnetic. No matter how much he wanted that image ingrained in his memory. To last him after this was over.

There was a shifting, and he ventured a look at Brian, gaze falling on the back of his head.

So familiar. So different.

“Come sit by me.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a road to disaster. Justin knew that.

“You never answered my question from this morning.”

“Because you already know it.”

Brian still wasn’t looking at him and it was frustrating. If he was going to lie (even though he never would), he could at least look at him when he did.

“Liar.”

“Am I?”

Justin sighed, pulling himself up from the futon (the first piece of furniture he had ever bought and now kept for sentimental reasons), and walked, his bare feet making no noise. He sat down on his coffee table, across from Brian, and stared at him until his gaze was met. “Tell me what happened.”

Brian’s eyes softened slightly. Setting aside the papers he’d been looking at, Brian leaned forward as he spoke. “It’s not why I’m here, Justin.” When he started to argue, one of Brian’s hands covered Justin’s mouth, the other pulling on Justin’s arm to bring him closer. “Stop fucking fighting this.”

He stiffened when Brian’s lips brushed his, once, twice, and then they were pressed against his mouth. The pressure deepened and Justin clenched and unclenched hands that wanted to touch _everything_ that was Brian. He felt the distinct grip of Brian’s hand in his hair. Brian’s mouth working his unyielding one, nips soothed by kisses, the quick slip of warm tongue that left the aftertaste of scotch on his.

Justin knew there was no fighting it. No matter how he tried. Because in the end, Brian’s touch broke through those steely walls he hid behind. His hands took a hold of Brian’s face, and he pulled back. Eyes meeting, clashing of hunger and need… his mouth fell on Brian’s and he caught the moan of satisfaction with the kiss.

It was a crash of taste and heat and lips and tongues… hands at his back, fingers clutching hair, skin brushing… teeth mashing… breaths colliding. Like it always was. Like it had never been. He was in Brian’s lap, groaning at the contact… years of need fighting with self-preservation. He lost to the sensations and happiness that bubbled inside. Hands fumbled with buttons and clothes, aching for contact with skin. He pushed into the hardness and heat that rubbed against him… pants escaping between kisses… to his face, his mouth… Brian’s lips skimming over his neck, down to his collarbone, and Justin shivered involuntarily.

Legs wrapped around Brian’s waist, he grasped hair and pulled Brian’s head away roughly. Meeting eyes filled with unrestrained desire, his lips skimmed Brian’s, biting and licking. His whispered words falling into Brian’s open mouth.

“Fuck me. Now.”

 **When a building gets torched, all that's left is ashes. I used to think that was true about everything, families, friends, feelings. But now I know, that sometimes if love proves real, two people who are meant to be together, nothing can keep them apart. -- The Crow**

 

It was a lifetime that had passed.

He could feel it in everything -- in Brian’s touch, mouth, hands, skin, taste -- it was the same and different. It was what he knew and a discovery. Justin felt seventeen and all his thirty-two years at once. He wanted. It was simple. Then all he felt was Brian’s mouth on his, hands fumbling with clothes, pulling him up and stumbling their way across the room.

 

 _Scratching at the surface now  
And I'm trying hard to work it out_

 

Justin would dream sometimes, memories that surfaced during his unguarded moments. He would recall the feel of Brian pressed against him. The shape of Brian’s back under his fingers… the feel of his pulse on Justin’s tongue. The taste of his skin, intoxicating and never quite satisfying the hunger in him. He always _needed_ more. It was in these dreams that he was allowed to think about Brian. To miss him. To yearn and want. They were always vivid -- so _fucking_ real -- that when he woke up, he could feel Brian. The weight of his cock in Justin’s mouth, the scent overwhelming him…

Those were the times he convinced himself that it hadn’t - couldn’t - have been everything he remembered. That his artistic mind only saw what it wanted to. And then Brian touched him… lips parted under Justin’s, splattered colors all around and _god damn it,_ he really was a fucking liar.

Because it was _everything_ he remembered.

Justin licked down the exposed flesh of Brian’s neck, shivering when he felt, rather than heard, the groan that escaped Brian. A cross between pure joy and a sob vibrated in his own mouth before Brian’s lips crashed down on it, fingers in Justin’s hair, holding on to anything he could reach, as if afraid Justin might disappear.

Hands gripping biceps, Justin fumbled, back hitting floor hard and pulling Brian down with him. It all became flashes… skin exposed, lips bruised against warm, sweat-slicked skin, pants flying off and there was nothing between them but an inch of air. Justin pushed up and rolled them over, taking Brian by surprise. He didn’t wait for a response, attacking mouth and skin. Teeth scraping on chin, trailing over neck and chest, licking nipples. There was the taste of Brian in his mouth, that heady musk of him burning his throat -- hurting and soothing -- making Justin want more, pulling him deeper, fingers clutching at Justin’s head.

 

 _And so much has gone misunderstood  
This mystery only leads to doubt_

 

Brian pulled him up, kissing him long and hard, taking too much… not enough. They fell apart, foreheads touching briefly, and then Brian turned Justin over, biting and licking the back of his neck, soothing caresses. Tremors ran through him, Brian’s slicked fingers inside him, stretching and twisting, his other arm holding Justin upright.

Justin pushed back onto Brian’s fingers. “Fuck.” He could feel the rumble of laughter coming from behind and spoke before Brian did. “Don’t… even think of saying it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” was the reply whispered in his ear. Justin moaned when a wet tongue flicked out to trace his ear. When Brian curled his fingers, Justin’s insides gave a tumble of sorts. That was what he remembered most. The way he could feel Brian’s touch over, under and between.

“Do you understand now?” Brian’s voice was strained, his chin leaning on Justin’s shoulder, dropping kisses randomly. “Tell me you understand.”

Justin pushed back again, groaning when Brian’s hand wrapped around his aching cock, running fingers over the leaking slit and up the vein that ran underneath the hardened shaft.

“Tell me.”

He couldn’t take it. He needed… wanted… so badly. “Yes. I believe you.”

It was all Brian needed, and he flipped him over, positioning himself and entering Justin in one fluid movement. Justin lost breath, his lungs constricting from the outpouring of -- _damn it_ \-- happiness, and he pushed up, taking more, all, everything that Brian gave. The world burst into shards of colors behind his eyelids and he shattered with them…

 

  


 

 _So if you have something to say  
Say it to me now_

 

Justin wasn’t sure how or when they had managed to make it to his room. It was a blur of kisses, hands, fucking, joy, need, and fear. All he knew was he wanted this, Brian inside him, as deep as possible. He wanted to feel him, to fill that ache that was always there.

Throbbing, never ceasing.

He’d blacked out at one point, whether from exhaustion or pleasure he wasn’t sure, and when his eyes opened all he could see was darkness. He wondered, briefly, if he had dreamt it all. Brian showing up at his door, the conversation with Michael, the gallery, them… but then he felt a heaviness across his back that indicated someone else was with him.

It had been real.

Justin turned his head, stopping when it bumped into Brian’s, and for a moment words escaped him. He was staring into Brian’s sleeping face. Brian’s arm was around him. His body as close to Justin’s as possible. The memories rushed through his mind… all those mornings when he’d wake up pushed up against Brian or when he’d find Brian holding on to him…

Justin blinked away the blurriness from his eyes and gently removed Brian’s grip on him before slipping quietly from the bed. He needed room. To think and breathe. To just be. Justin needed to collect the scattered thoughts in his head. He grabbed the pajama bottoms he’d left lying on the floor the night before and put them on. He glanced back once, smiling despite his turbulent emotions, at the sight of Brian spread across his bed. It was the way he’d always ended up in sleep. Taking over every inch of space.

Dragging his eyes away, Justin walked silently into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffeemaker. He tried not to trip on his way in the dark. Caffeine was essential to his existence at that moment. He needed a clear head to come up with some way to fix this. He wasn’t sure how exactly he could, though. It hadn’t taken even one day before he’d given in to Brian.

He was staring into his empty cup, mind whirling with doubts and second thoughts, when Brian’s voice made him jump.

“Didn’t you know that caffeine is bad for you?”

Justin turned, swallowing down the rush of desire that pulsed through him. Brian stood in Justin’s robe, which - being his - was too small for Brian, eyebrow raised in question.

Justin returned the look. If he could act naturally, like this hadn’t meant everything it had, maybe they could get through it without any more scars. “Oh? Where did you hear that?”

Justin saw the smile play at Brian’s lips before he answered. “This annoying little shit once told me that it caused high blood pressure, heart attacks…” He’d begun to walk to Justin as he spoke and stood only an inch from him now. “Poor sexual performance...” He leaned down to brush his lips against Justin’s and whispered, “...and insomnia.”

He couldn’t believe Brian remembered that, and the proud look on his face made Justin laugh. He leaned up to kiss him. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”

“Yes. I am.”

Justin sighed. “Brian, come on. Be serious.”

“I’m always serious, Sunshine.”

He pulled away from Brian, heading to the windows and staring out into the night. He felt Brian come up behind him, and a second later his chin rested on Justin’s shoulder, arms encircling his waist.

“You think too fucking much.”

“One of us has to.” Justin turned into Brian’s arms, leaning back to look at his face. “Tell me what happened, Brian.” He covered his mouth with one hand, stroking the side of Brian’s face with the other. “And don’t fucking tell me that it doesn’t matter. I know it does.”

Brian pursed his lips inward, something Justin knew he did only when he was stressed or trying not to be. Trying to ease Brian, he kissed his chin, then throat, and back up to his mouth.

“Tell me.” They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity until finally Brian nodded.

“But not right now.”

“Brian-”

“I want to take a shower and I can’t…” He brushed one hand over his face, and Justin reached up to touch his cheek in silent understanding.

“Fine. Go.”

Brian looked down at him, smirking, and Justin knew what was coming next. He tried not to react, simply waiting. Brian brushed past him, stopping to look back. “You coming?”

Justin shook his head, a puff of laughter escaping. He turned, meeting Brian’s gaze, and surprising them both, grinned widely. He almost laughed at the dazed expression on Brian’s face, and he used it to his advantage, pulling down his pants, discarding them, before walking across the floor and past Brian. “Well, since you asked so nicely and all.”

He heard Brian’s mumbled “Little shit” as he walked into the bathroom…

 

  


 

 _And I'm looking for a sign  
In this dark uneasy time_

 

Waking up with Brian brought back feelings that Justin had managed to keep bottled up for so long. Some were good. Like the warmth in his stomach when Brian touched him or the toe-curling kisses he’d give to pull him out of sleep. The feel of Brian’s mouth on his aching cock, the hands that molded to his skin, and the sound of Brian in the morning… The deep, sleep-fogged voice that muttered his name as they both came…

And some weren’t good. Remembering how it felt not having that. The times when it wasn’t just the two of them. The mornings after a fight where the space between them in bed was so wide, he hadn’t been sure if they could ever find each other again. The coldness in that voice when Brian thought pushing him off the cliff was preferable to letting Justin make his own decisions.

Justin pushed those thoughts away as he waited for Brian to tell him the truth. The real reason he was here. He hadn’t forced the issue since that first night, allowing Brian to set the pace, to pick the time. He’d thrown himself into their suddenly revived relationship… counting the hours as they passed. He knew if Brian couldn’t be honest with him, it was over.

It already was. He had meant it when he’d given Brian three days.

They were down to less than one now.

It had been a blur of fucking: at the apartment, in Justin’s car, at the gallery, in the back alley where Brian had caught him by surprise… in the kitchen while Justin had been attempting to make dinner… on the couch where Justin had jumped on Brian while he worked.

Justin knew Brian was up to something. They hadn’t spent every single minute together. While he was working, Brian had been in meetings on the phone and out in the city. He hadn’t asked, mostly because when they were together all Justin wanted was to soak up as much of Brian as he could. To drink in every moment because he was determined this would be it.

He watched Brian instead of concentrating on the painting in front of him. He’d restarted it, using what he had already produced and adding changes he knew it needed. It was monochromatic, blurred figures trailing away from the viewer except for one face, eyes sharp and probing. Justin had no fucking clue what he was going for, but for the first time in a long time, he liked what he was painting.

Brian was walking toward him, and Justin hurried to cover his work. He smiled at the other man as he came to stand next to the painting, not attempting to look at it. Brian knew better. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Brian reached for Justin’s hand, taking the brush out from his fingers and setting it on the easel. Justin allowed him to take off his smock (one of Brian’s old shirts that was left behind) and followed as Brian led him to his bedroom. He waited to see exactly what it was all about. It was unlike Brian to bring them to the bed. They normally ended there but rarely if ever began there. “What’s going on?”

Brian shook his head, eyes serious, and motioned to the bed. “Get in.”

Justin raised an eyebrow.

Brian sighed. “Just -- trust me, okay? Get in.”

He did as Brian asked, lying face up and watching Brian remove his own shirt, leaving him only in his traditional wife beater. It surprised him when Brian spoke again to hear his voice sound so… tense.

“Can you get on your side?”

Justin blinked a few times, but after gauging that, no, Brian was serious, he rolled to his side, listening intently to Brian’s movement. The bed dipped under his weight, and a few moments later, Brian’s hands were on his hips, flexing and smoothing over Justin. It wasn’t unusual for them to lie this way, but Brian had never asked to. It was too… Justin wasn’t sure what, but it was.

He felt Brian’s arms slide around his waist, and after a few seconds, Justin brought one hand down to entwine their fingers. He sighed when Brian’s lips skimmed over the back of his neck. They were spooning, Justin realized, and would have laughed at that if he wasn’t so worried about what was going on in Brian’s head. Brian’s cheek touched his as he lay his head right beside Justin’s.

They laid in silence for several minutes, just breathing in. Justin felt Brian’s heartbeat against his back, the steady rhythm that had always lulled him to sleep. He felt his eyes grow heavy. And then Brian spoke.

“It was like I was seeing you.”

Justin’s eyes flew open and he tried to turn to look at Brian, but strong hands held him in place. Brian’s voice was almost pleading.

“Don’t. I can’t look at you and do this.”

Justin nodded, taking the hand in his and bringing it up to his chest. “Okay.”

Brian cleared his throat. “It’s not that… shit. I’ve missed you for a long time. That’s not any fucking news. You knew that, even if you didn’t want to see it.”

Justin agreed silently. He had known at Ben’s funeral that something between them had changed. But neither of them had said anything, and Justin pretended he’d imagined it.

“I kept insisting that it was fine. That you had Matt and that you had ended up where you belonged. That it wasn’t some big fucking deal when you stopped painting and started the gallery. I ignored Daphne when she told me she thought you weren’t happy. You seemed it when we talked, or on the rare occasions we saw each other.”

“I was pretending,” Justin softly said, before closing his eyes at the words. Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that.

“Yeah, well. No shit, Sunshine.” Brian kissed the side of Justin’s face, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Thing was -- I didn’t know what the fuck to do about it. It’s just not me to…”

“Show up at your ex’s door at one in the morning with declarations?”

“Yeah. And stop thinking what you are, because I haven’t finished, okay?”

Justin shrugged, trying not to let the bubble of hopefulness expand further. “Shutting up.”

“That’ll be a first.” Brian stroked Justin’s arm and began speaking again. “There’s a lot of time that’s passed. I’m not -- fuck -- I’m forty-four years old, Justin. Jesus.”

Justin suppressed the laugh that threatened to come out at the despondent note in Brian’s voice. “I’m well aware of that, yes.”

“I’ve spent most of my life, and I don’t regret that, doing what I wanted, fuck what anyone else thinks. Except that -- for a long time now -- I haven’t done that. I’ve done what everyone thinks I should do. I’ve lived up to being Brian Fucking Kinney.” He sighed, muttering under his breath that he was starting to sound like a babbling moron. “I’m never going to be -”

“Normal? Yeah, got that.”

Brian hit Justin’s arm. “Shut up, smartass. We -- I don’t -- I just kept telling myself it was for the better. That you had your happy hetero-like home life and I had my fucking. Then Ben got sick, and we knew it was the end. He’d run out of time. We started taking turns with him so Mikey could have some time away.” Brian buried his face against the crook of Justin’s neck, his warm breath on Justin’s skin as he spoke. “And we got to talk. One day we were bullshitting when he looked at me and said, ‘You’re a fucking moron, Brian. You love him. Fuck what anyone says. Go find him.’ It took me a while to react, because it was so out of left field.”

Justin didn’t dare move. Brian was never like this. Never open or talkative, except when it was important to him. “I would have been surprised, too.”

“When I tried to argue, he wouldn’t listen. Telling me I was a fucking idiot, that I love you, and that what we could build didn’t have to fit any one mold.” Brian laughed a little then. “He said we had always created our own rules, why the fuck stop now. And -- I knew he was right. But, you know…”

“You’re Brian fucking Kinney, right?”

“Exactly. I didn’t listen. I chalked it up to Ben being sick and just -- shoved it away. And then he died. And I saw you again -- and everything he said came back. That just pissed me off. So I spent a year trying to forget it.”

Justin held his breath, already knowing what Brian was going to say. He was going to tell him.

“Then, last week… it’d been a long fucking month. Mikey was depressed, the kids, Debbie… Emmett guessed I needed to do something. So, he forced me to go with him to a new club. Drew was out of town and he wanted someone to go with him. That was what he said, of course. I knew better. But I went.” Brian paused then, seeming to need a moment to collect his thoughts. “We were walking back to the car, trading notes on the dancing and the fucking as usual, and -” Brian took a deep breath as he spoke. “We heard -- it was -- fuck.” This time Brian tried to pull away, but Justin held onto his arms, stroking his hands gently.

“Tell me.”

“Some fucking breeders were taking a -- kid wasn’t more than sixteen years old. I ran without thinking, and I could hear Emmett in the background on the phone. I don’t know what the fuck I was going to do. All I could see was you -- lying on concrete, blood everywhere. I managed to tackle one of them. The other one ran off.”

“What did you do?” Justin’s grip on Brian’s arm was strong, knuckles white. “Did the-”

“I don’t know -- it’s all a fucking blur -- I know I hit the motherfucker enough to cause some damage. I left him lying there and tried to help Emmett with the kid but -- I couldn’t. It was you, on the floor. It was that fucking night coming back.”

“Brian.” Justin turned, struggling against the hands that tried to stop him, shaking from memories of everything that happened, his recovery, the loss of those days. Even after years of therapy, thousands of dollars spent, it scared him to think of that night. It always would. But he knew that for Brian, it was probably worse. He’d never tried to work past it, just shoved it away. And sadly, he remembered it all. “Hey. It’s okay.”

“It’s not fucking okay. I couldn’t -- it was too late. We tried to stop -- but by the time the paramedics got there…” Brian ran a hand over his face. “He didn’t make it. Sixteen fucking years old.”

“Brian.”

“I should have -”

“What?” Justin touched his face, fingers gripping Brian’s chin and forcing him to look at him. “You did everything you could. You were a hero. Just like before.”

“He died.”

“I know that. But that doesn’t stop what you did. You tried.”

“I couldn’t save him and all I could think of was, what if I hadn’t been there that night? What would have happened to you?”

Justin rose on one arm, leaning over Brian. “Hey. I’m here. Look at me. I’m right here. You did save me. I’m here because of you.” He kissed Brian’s mouth until he felt it open beneath his lips, and he breathed in, deepening it until Brian’s hands gripped at his hair. Pulling away, he sighed against Brian’s face. “Don’t feel guilty. Don’t make that the reason you’re here.”

Hazel eyes, haunted and pained, looked into his and Justin felt caught there. Brian’s hands touching his cheeks softly. “You don’t need to hear all this. It’s not fair.”

“I can handle it, Brian. Probably better than you can.”

Brian pushed Justin back, staring into his eyes. “It’s not the reason. It’s the excuse, Justin. I wanted to be here, a year ago. Shit. Longer than that. But I chose to waste time -- I don’t even fucking know why. The reason is because -”

Justin got up fast. “ _Don’t_. Don’t say it. Please.” He walked to the foot of the bed, pacing with anxiety and despair. He couldn’t hear it. “It’s just the shock of it all.”

“Justin.”

“No. I can’t hear it. I can’t take it.” He started to move to his closet. If he said the words, he couldn’t take them back. It would be real. He needed clothes. Had to get out of this room, away from Brian. He couldn’t take this.

Brian came up behind him suddenly, turning Justin and claiming his mouth before anything else could be said. Justin closed his eyes, a part of him wanting to struggle, the other unable to fight. He wrapped his arms around Brian, forgetting the fear for that moment. He sank into the waves that overcame him, taking in everything he couldn’t… wouldn’t from Brian’s words. He forgot that they could never work and let himself believe, for that second, in the lie.

 

  


 

 _So if you have something to say  
Say it to me now_

 

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do now. Justin could hear Brian rumblings in the other room. He’d been awake for an hour, listening intently and trying desperately to find a way to do what he had to with the minimum amount of pain. The doorbell rang and he tried to make out what was being said. Giving up finally, he rose from bed, slipping into his bathrobe and stepping outside his bedroom.

Brian was dressed in jeans and a white shirt, phone to his ear. “I understand, Theodore. I can’t be back for a few weeks, though… Yeah, I’m aware of that, but you and Cynthia can handle it.” Brian smirked a little as he spoke. “Well, you’re going to have to. It’s your job now.”

He caught Justin’s eye when he turned and half smiled as he continued. “No, I won’t be back to close down the loft for a while.”

Justin glared at him. They had a deal. Three days.

“No. I have an open date back… Not sure how long I’ll be… Yeah… It looks great… Pretty much as soon as I’m back, we’ll start with the construction. Listen, Ted, I got to go… It leaves tomorrow… Thanks. Yeah. Bye.” He snapped his phone shut and gave Justin a self-satisfied smirk. “Good morning, Sunshine. I ordered breakfast. It’s on the counter.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Brian?”

That was met with an interested look. “Having breakfast, Justin.”

“Don’t be glib with me!”

Brian laughed. “You didn’t actually just say that, did you?”

“Fine. Don’t fucking play with me, asshole. I said three days. I meant three days.”

“I know.” Brian motioned to his feet and Justin noticed his bag.

“Oh.” It took the wind out of his sails… the sight of Brian leaving again. He was confused now. Talking to Ted, it sounding like he wasn’t leaving. “Well, what the fuck was that all about with Teddy?”

“That was a private conversation, Sunshine.”

“If you didn’t want me to hear it, then you shouldn’t have been having it in my house.”

Brian nodded. “True enough. And since you asked so nicely, I was just telling Theodore I would be indisposed for a couple of weeks and to only contact me in a state of emergency… which means he’ll be calling every day, of course.”

Justin shook his head. He was missing something. “So, you’re not going back to the Pitts?”

Brian looked at him now. “I told you I wasn’t.”

“And you’re not staying here?”

“Three days is three days.” Brian continued to stare at him.

Justin crossed his arms. “So, where are you going?”

“Spain.”

Justin blinked, breath catching in his chest. “Ibiza?”

Brian nodded. “Sure. Among a few others.” He reached into his briefcase, pulling out a ticket and placing it on the table. “I want you to come with me.”

Justin opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Brian smiled, closing the briefcase as he talked. “It leaves tomorrow. Ten in the morning. From JFK.”

“You’re insane.” Justin let out a hysterical bubble of laughter. He fell into a chair at the table, glancing at the ticket that sat on it. His name, in that Arial typeface that airline tickets always had. Clear as day. “What the fuck is going on, Brian?”

Brian walked to Justin, kneeling down to meet his eyes. “You’re always telling me I don’t respect your right to make choices. That I push you off the cliff and never let you have a say.” Brian glanced pointedly at the tickets and then back at Justin. “This is your choice. I’m giving you that.”

Justin stared into hazel eyes, as open as he’d ever seen them, and he felt the fear rising to the surface.

Brian held up a hand. “Don’t do it. Don’t fucking run away. It’s what you do, Justin. Anytime I start to sound too real, you get scared and you run. It’s why you left the first time, and it’s why you left the last time.”

“ _You_ pushed me away the last time.”

“If I had told you what I wanted, you wouldn’t have believed me. You never do. It’s a fucking no-win situation.” Brian rose up, looking down on Justin. “I’m not saying I want Breeder Avenue with the white picket fence and Volvo.”

Justin rolled his eyes. “Yeah. ‘Cause that’s exactly what I want.”

Brian grinned. “It’s what you said you wanted.”

“That was a decade ago, Brian.”

“Glad to hear that’s changed. I can’t promise that I’ll ever be satisfied with any form of hetero lifestyle, but… we’ve always made up our own rules.”

Justin forced himself not to smile. “True.”

“We’ve never been conventional. I don’t think we have to fucking start now.” Brian grabbed his jacket, hanging it from his arm, and headed to his bag. Justin felt a moment of panic.

“So, you’re going to go?”

Brian glanced back at him. “Do you give a shit?”

Justin looked away. “I didn’t say that.”

“You give a shit. Huh. Justin Taylor...”

“Shut the fuck up.” Justin got to his feet and suddenly Brian was in front of him. Leaning in, he kissed him, deeply, one hand on his head, the other wrapped around Justin’s waist.

Pulling back, lips touching Justin’s, he breathed onto his mouth. “Gives a shit.” He leaned away, eyes softening at the fear Justin knew was evident on his face. “I know you can’t hear this.” He tightened his hold when Justin started to pull away, and bringing his mouth to Justin’s ear, he whispered, “I fucking love you. Get over it.”

Justin shook with every emotion raging inside, while every single thing he wanted was there in front of him, and he couldn’t take it. He couldn’t say it back.

Brian pulled away, walking to the door. He paused for a moment. “I hope you use that ticket. If you don’t…”

Justin closed his eyes.

“I’ll see you in two weeks.”

Justin’s eyes snapped open. “What?”

“I have to be back then. We start construction on Kinnetik New York.”

Justin blinked. “Wait...what?”

Brian moved a little closer. “I’m opening the New York branch, so I’ll be back. Don’t worry, I booked a suite at the Plaza until I can find a place here. You won’t have to put me up.”

There were no words, really. Brian was moving to New York. For him. He knew that. “Jesus Christ, Brian.”

There was that famous look, the patented “Who gives a fuck?” Kinney one, and Justin allowed the hope to rise. He believed somewhere in his mind that this was real. That it was true. Because Brian was staying. He was staying, and for once he was giving Justin the chance to decide if he wanted to stay with him.

Brian nodded to the table. “I hope you use it.” And then he was gone.

 

  


 

 _So if you have something to say  
Say it to me now_

 

He’d been staring at the damn piece of paper for hours now and he was no closer to knowing what to do than he had been before. It was ridiculous. It would never work. He and Brian always fell apart. It was their gift. Justin laughed sadly. It was what they always did. Their pattern… Brian couldn’t change. Justin got frustrated. Brian would hide. Justin would get angry. Something would happen. Brian would freak and go to the extreme. Justin would run away.

Except this time.

It wasn’t like that. Brian hadn’t fought it. He had changed. Not completely. Not to where it wasn’t him, but -- Justin ran a hand through his hair. He’d handed Justin the reins and stepped away. It was up to him now.

He could have everything he wanted. If he let himself.

He just didn’t know if he _could._

The painting stood in front of him, half-finished, promising but unsure. It was there. What he wanted out of it. But his fear, his uncertainty wouldn’t let him find it. Justin rose, eyes taking in all the strokes, those obvious, those subtle… and it came slowly. He reached for the brush, frantic strokes taking over. Colors reviving, changing, becoming deeper...gaining vitality. He did this for hours, not stopping, knowing if he did it might disappear altogether.

When it was done, he stepped back, taking it all in. It wasn’t perfect yet. But he’d begun, and he knew it would be unique. One of a kind. Like nothing else he’d ever paint. The smile that spread across his face was wide, and Justin let out a laugh, free and real.

He brushed stained hands on his pants, not caring about the paint, and picked up the handheld that always lay close to his side when he was working. He pressed one of the speed dial buttons, making a list as he moved through his apartment. He had a lot to do.

“Fucking hell, J. Do you know it’s like two in the fucking morning?”, was the surly greeting when the line was finally picked up.

“I didn’t interrupt anything.” Justin smiled into the phone.

“Now, how would you know that? Steve and I could have been playing Little Bo Peep and the Big Bad Wolf, for all you know.”

“Which one of you is which?”

David snorted. “Do you need to ask? You know he’s my bitch. Ow! What the… oh, hey honey. I was joking!”

Justin laughed and called out. “David! I’m not coming in tomorrow. Well, today. Or the next day.”

There was silence. “Uh-huh. You’re not?”

“No, I won’t be in for a couple of weeks. Just cancel all meetings and, you know, try not to burn the place down while I’m gone.”

There was a pause. “This have anything to do with Mr. Fucking Gorgeous Kinney?”

Justin said nothing, grabbing the ticket from the counter as he walked to his room. Smiling, he said quietly, “Let’s just say I’m going on a long overdue trip.”

 

  
_  
**Epilogue**   
_   


 

The ending wasn’t clear.

Justin pulled back, brush dripping paint on the stained cloth at his feet, eyes focused on what he wasn’t sure was there. He was fucking pissed off. His hand brushed furiously over the canvas, angry and quick strokes that had more to do with his own frustration than what was needed to finish.

“It’s not like you two don’t fight all the time, J.”

“We don’t.” Justin replied, keeping his eyes on the mess that he’d created. He’d have to start all over again.

There was a snort, followed by a “Right.”

Justin turned to stare at Gus, coffee mug in hand, spitting image of his father, and he couldn’t help but grin at him despite his anger. This boy represented all the good that Brian could never see in himself, even now. “We don’t, at least not about this, kiddo.”

Gus rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “You two are fucking stupid sometimes.”

Justin glared at him. “Hey. Watch it.”

Gus smirked, shrugging. “I’m just saying that when it comes to some things, you and Dad can be dumb dealing with it.” He studied the canvas, walking to Justin as he did, and placing a hand on his shoulder, Gus gave a quick squeeze. “I like it better like that. It’s honest.” Then a second later he was gone.

Justin shook his head, pausing to take another look at what he’d done, and sighing in defeat.

Little fucker.

 

  


 

It began when they’d gotten back. Even after how good and right it had felt those weeks with Brian, as soon as they stepped off the plane in NY, those doubts -- the voice that always told him it would never work -- came back full blast. Now, they would have to deal with real life.

Justin was pretty sure he was going to have a panic attack.

Walking down the airport, heading toward the luggage ramps, he’d done something he never had before with Brian. He told Brian exactly what he was thinking. In the exact moment he was thinking it.

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t Brian half-smiling at him and firmly stating, “We won’t fucking know unless we try, Justin.”

Somehow, that had actually scared the hell out of him. Brian… the mature one? It wasn’t what he was used to. But then Brian was pinning him against a wall, his lips hovering over Justin’s, and somehow that had washed away the rest.

It was unreal to Justin. A life he hadn’t let himself believe could actually exist. They weren’t perfect. Far from it, really. This was him and Brian. If they didn’t fuck something up every once in a while, it wouldn’t seem right. He knew all that intellectually.

But his heart… it still had fear.

Everything was going so well.

Three years and they’d managed not to kill each other. Actually forming a semi-healthy (for them) life together. Gus visited with them the whole summer… mostly, Justin knew, because he was trying to get away from his estranged mothers and their huge battle. But it was good to have him with them for more than two weeks at a time.

He was happy.

And then Brian had dropped the “M” word and Justin couldn’t breathe. He’d stuttered around for a response, only earning Gus laughing at him. Brian had left in a huff that morning, mumbling under his breath and rolling his eyes on his way out the door.

Justin watched him now from across the room. He hadn’t mentioned it once since he’d arrived and Justin thought maybe it had been a fluke.

“I meant it, Justin.” Brian said, not glancing up from the brief he was studying.

Justin heard Gus snort and darted a quick look at his… at Gus. He was met with a grin and a shake of the head.

“You two are pathetic.”

“No. Only one of us is.”

Justin scowled. “Look, just because I didn’t jump up and down at your _brilliant_ idea, doesn’t make me dumb.” He glanced at Gus for emphasis before turning to look back at Brian. “Or pathetic. In fact, it makes me damn smart.”

“Yeah.” Brian snorted this time.

“Brian, we’re fine the way we are… and I swear if you puff, snort, or make any kind of derisive noise, I’m going to squirt this fucking tube of paint on your pretty new Prada shoes,” Justin threatened, holding up the weapon as he spoke.

There was silence from Brian.

“That’s what I thought.” Justin motioned toward Brian as he looked at Gus. “See, nothing to say.”

“It’s not fair when you threatened his shoes,” Gus pointed out. “It’s like threatening… well, me.”

Justin rolled his eyes. “Smartass.”

“I learned from the best.” Gus shrugged, getting up from the couch. Flicking off the TV, he walked toward the door. “I’m going to go get some Tasty Delite. I expect you two to have resolved this issue by the time I get back.” He turned at the entrance to look at Justin. “Did it ever occur to you that he wants to do this because he’s totally in love with you and can’t bear the thought of not being with you every moment of every day?”

Justin let out a laugh at the horrified expression Brian sent Gus. “I don’t think your father agrees with that take.”

Gus grinned. “Of course not. He doesn’t want anyone thinking he’s a -”

“Go get your fucking Tasty shit, Gus!”

The door closed on Gus’ loud giggles and left a thick silence in its wake. Justin closed his eyes for a moment. He was going to get to the bottom of this before he made any kind of decision. He walked slowly toward Brian, fighting the smile he always got when he looked at him. He knew Brian meant well, but he always jumped in with grand gestures when he thought it was what Justin wanted. This had to be something Brian wanted.

Gus was right. They were pathetic.

He kneeled behind Brian, snaking one hand around his neck, while he placed soft kisses on his neck between words. “Okay. Tell me again why you think this is a good idea.” He knew if he could get Brian to spell out his “reasons” that he would realize things were just perfect the way they were.

Brian sighed, putting aside his work and gripping with one hand Justin’s arm. “You practically live here already, Justin.”

“Well… that’s a little bit…”

“It’s not. When was the last time you were even in your own apartment?” Brian asked, meeting Justin’s eyes. “It’s been a couple of months. All your current art is here. You get mail here. Your agent calls here. It’s just logical that the next step is for you to move in.”

There is was again. The dreaded “M’ word. Moving in. Justin cleared his throat before speaking. “And the reason that I get to stay here that long is because we both know that when you get on my nerves or I piss you off, I have somewhere else to go.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “You piss me off everyday, Sunshine.”

Justin tightened his hold on Brian. “I do, do I?”

“Hell yes.”

He leaned his chin down on Brian’s shoulder, looking at him sideways. “I like having my own space, Brian. Sometimes I have to work here, yes. Because you…”

Brian smirked. “I’m your muse.” It dripped with sarcasm, but they both knew it was the truth.

Justin puffed out a breath. “Don’t be so smug about it. Yes, sometimes you are my muse. And other times… you’re what blocks me.” Brian said nothing and Justin continued. “It’s nice to know there’s a place for me to go when that happens.”

Brian shrugged. “Fine, so keep your apartment as a studio. You can afford it.”

Justin had thought of that during the course of the day. The loft was completely paid for; there was nothing that said he couldn’t turn it into a studio. It was within walking distance. But -- there was still that hesitation.

“This is your place, Brian. It’s all you, from top to bottom. Sure, there are bits of me here and there… Don’t give me that look… Okay fine, everywhere. But at the end of the day, you chose it, you picked the furniture… It’s yours. Not ours.”

Brian glanced at him quizzically. “Is that what this is about? You don’t think this place is ours?”

Justin smiled sheepishly, not bothering to pretend it didn’t matter. “It’s not really. No.” He felt one of Brian’s hands on his cheek and let it guide his face to look at his partner. Justin’s insides did that bubbly thing that always happened when he was this close to Brian. “Don’t try to distract me.” He leaned in to kiss the grin that appeared on Brian’s face. “It’s not fair.”

Justin pulled away, his mind whirring with thoughts he couldn’t say out loud. It was too soon. It took so much work to get to where they were. He didn’t want to risk it by hoping for more. Ignoring the voice that reminded him this had actually been Brian’s idea, he started toward his painting. Maybe he could finish it now.

Brian’s next words brought him to a halt.

“Okay. Let’s get a place together.”

Justin turned, mouth hanging open. He was serious about this moving in business. “What?”

“Did I stutter? I said, let’s get a place together.” Brian’s brow furrowed, and Justin watched him reach for his briefcase. “Wait a minute… I think… yep. Look at that. Listings for places. Wonder how those got in there.”

“You’re for real?”

“Nah. This is just some fucking joke to me.” He pointed at the papers in his hand, showing Justin the emblem at the top. “These are from your mother, who so graciously accepted to help when she found out I was willing to make an honest living-in-sin man out of you.” Brian’s face took on a mock serious expression. “I, for one, would never fuck with Mother Taylor’s emotions.”

Justin stared at him for a long moment before quietly stating, “You shit. How long have you been thinking about this?”

Brian quirked an eyebrow at him. “Three years… Okay, maybe more like two.” He nodded his head. “I have been very patient.”

Justin crossed his arms. “And what about tricks?”

“You silly wabbit…”

“Brian!”

“What about them?”

Justin shook his head. “I don’t want to share our bed with others, you know that. I never did. It was why this worked so well. We didn’t have… just one bed.” Okay, that was a ridiculous thing to say, and Justin knew Brian thought so too from the look on his face.

“Justin, we don’t… it’s… what the fuck.”

Justin gestured at him. “See? I don’t want you to bend into someone else. I know that it’s part of who you are, even if it’s not…”

“As important anymore?”

“That’s what you keep saying.”

“Fine. Then I keep this place.” Justin could tell Brian was holding back on the snark. He knew he was being stubborn. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew Brian rarely if ever tricked anymore. His tastes were too discerning at this point in his life. The last time Justin remembered a trick was the one they’d had together. But this was Brian… He didn’t want to lock him in.

“So, we each have separate places, plus our own?”

“Well, you won’t take my word when I tell you -- and I have told you this -- that I like our life and I’m not looking to get out, so if keeping this place for my _insatiable urges_ will get you to move in with me, I’ll eat the expense.” Brian held his hand out. “Happy? Good. Now come over here and take a look at these places.”

Justin had run out of things to say. There was that happy, hopeful feeling taking over the fear. “You mean it, Brian?” he asked, looking away.

He felt Brian’s eyes on his face. “I never say anything I don’t mean. I never do anything I don’t want to. You know that. So?”

Justin took a deep breath, meeting Brian’s gaze, and let himself believe. “So… they’re all in Manhattan, right?”

“Of course, Princess.”

“I wouldn’t go there, Queen Mother.” He was ignored as Brian glanced down at a stack of listings, thumbing through them while he waited for whatever Justin had to say. Not wanting to waste words, Justin took him by surprise, falling on his lap and sending all the papers scattering.

“What the fuck…?”

Justin shut the protest up with his hands and mouth and tongue. He pulled away and stood up. “I love you, you know that?” He leaned in to give Brian one more kiss before walking back to his painting. He suddenly felt inspired. He knew it was coming.

“I love you, too.”

Justin grinned and counted to five.

“…Twat.”

He was still grinning when the door opened and Gus poked his head in. “Is it resolved or do I have to pretend to go out for something else?”

Brian nodded, his eyes still on Justin. “It’s done.”

“Awesome. Just make sure my room has a view, ‘cause I’ll totally be crashing there weekends during the semester.” Gus patted Justin as he walked past him, winking and grinning. He stopped to help Brian pick up the rest of the papers, and Justin watched them start to argue over the frozen yogurt.

This was it. His life. Their life.

It was their life.

Finally.

 

-Fin- __


End file.
